


Cinderella

by the_cloud_whisperer



Category: Death Note
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Apples, L is a little deranged, Light is actually normal, M/M, Mutilation, Ok not just a little, Pie, Ryuk is the fairygodmother, but Beyond is more deranged, very
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:11:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cloud_whisperer/pseuds/the_cloud_whisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The original Grimm fairytale adapted to Death Note - seriously. L bakes apple pie, Ryuk is a fashionista, Light gets poisoned, and all's well that ends well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cinderella

**Author's Note:**

> Mutilation and slight non-con situation at one point. It's really not bad.

His name was L. L can stand for any number of things, from love to life to lust to lachrymal gland inactivity. But in this case, it was just L.

L's parents were quite well off; their family bakery earned them the steady business of everyone in the village. So they were rich, for bakers. And until L was nine years old, his life was actually reasonably full of cotton candy. Then his father was killed, flattened under a grindstone at the village mill, where he was purchasing flour ground from wheat.

L was astute for his age, and he wondered why his father had been near the grindstone at the time of his death. Accusations of foul play and police investigations did not really exist in this day and age, and L could only ponder this quandary as he watched his widowed mother accept an unnecessarily gaudy, large ruby ring from the owner of the mill, whose name was B. L's stepfather had two daughters, Misa and Takada. Something else did not quite line up in L's mind at this union; perhaps it was the fact that B licked his lips far too often when he was with L's mother, or that his eyes seemed to reflect the color of her ring. But L was only nine years old.

A few months after her remarriage, L's mother died while cutting a cake. B had been in the room with her, and he claimed that she had been quartering the cake for a customer when the knife slipped from her hands and the handle wedged itself between two sacks of flour. She went tripping over her own feet to retrieve it, fell towards the sacks to break her fall, and the knife conveniently slipped between her ribs. So B said. Only L noticed how B's teeth seemed rather pink the next morning, how his fingernails were rimmed with red, how his hair smelled of rusted iron and stale water. He also knew that cakes were rather soft and did not require sharp knives for cutting. L's mind was better at putting the pieces together now. But he was still only nine years old.

Extreme lachrymal gland inactivity marked the next nine years of L's life. He never cried once as he assumed the role of unpaid and overworked house servant, cleaning, cooking, sewing, and of course, sweeping the cinders on the floor. Yet not a tear slipped from his impossibly round, blank, bagged eyes. He rarely slept, which might have been due to his recurring nightmare of his mother weeping blood as her fingers curled limply around a rusted, needle-sharp knife.

Anyone would call his a miserable existence, but to L, it was just existence. He was neither happy nor sad. The time came when Misa and Takada (ah, remember them?) were old enough to attend the annual royal ball, which lasted three days. B put the definition of doting father to shame as he flitted about readying his daughters for the fete. No man should be so skilled at braiding hair, lacing corsets, or dabbing rouge, L mused, but neither should he be able to wield steel between steady fingers and live to put the knife away for another day.

L watched the carriage trundle away, bearing his stepfamily, and decided he would make some apple pie to comfort himself. Food no longer held any interest for him unless it contained ten times the sugar content of an average person's diet.

He had peeled two apples when he felt a draft of wind lifting his uncombed hair. He looked up: before him stood a bizarre creature. Structurally, it was humanoid, but it was dressed all in black, with demonic wings extending seven feet wide on either side of it. Its face was white, masklike, and bony, and it stood about ten feet tall. It was, plainly put, a monster. To top it all off, it spoke to L.

"Mind if I have some apples?"

It snatched up one of said fruit, dangling it by its stem and twirling it perilously near its mouth. Its teeth were rather comically sharp.

L blinked once. It's hard to be fazed when your parents are dead and your life hardly qualifies. L said, "You may have one. However, I shall need the rest for making apple pie, which you are welcome to share."

The creature blinked several times. "That's the most amiable response I've ever gotten," it said. "Most people run away screaming about demons and bogeymen upon seeing me."

"Appropriate, given your somewhat terrifying appearance." L began peeling more apples as if there wasn't a monster in the room.

"That's flattering," the creature grumbled around a mouthful of apple. "The name's Ryuk, by the way."

"L."

"How long does it take to bake an apple pie, L?"

"About two hours."

"How perfectly lovely. I do hate waiting. It's so boring." Ryuk tossed his apple core out the window and seated himself on the windowsill like a ridiculously oversized bird. "A lot of things are boring, actually. Humans often are; in fact, you're the least boring I've met."

L, who was now mixing the ingredients for the batter, glanced at the creature. "Thanks… I think?"

"Definitely. If I can't scare you, I'm interested to find out what can. Maybe that man in the carriage that left here a while ago. His eyes were very red for a human. Your father?"

"Stepfather, actually."

"Sounds like a long story. An interesting one, too, I'll bet."

"You bet well, but it's not a story I'll tell in a rush," L said guardedly. He was starting on the crust now, and he really didn't need to remember.

"I don't rush much, either, though your stepsisters don't subscribe to that, judging from what I've just seen. Of course," Ryuk continued, unheeding of his listener's lack of interest, "those poor misguided girls—no fashion sense at all! Those frills were in about a century ago; I was around to take note. In case you were wondering, I'm a god of death. I'm basically immortal. But that's beside the point. My  _point_ is that if those girls had me as their fashion advisors, they would never have to worry about another dress again…"

Ryuk launched into a very detailed rant discussing the potentialities of Misa and Takada's wardrobes; during this time, L finished crusting and returned to stirring the batter, offhandedly adding some more ingredients. He finally placed it all in the oven and settled down to wait. Ryuk noticed that he did not sit properly, but rather crouched, hunched over, on the floor.

"Why do you sit like that?" Ryuk wondered.

"It's easier to deal with people when they don't notice you because you're on the same level as their knees," L answered circuitously. "It's also warmer down here."

Ryuk observed that L wore only a thin shirt and faded trousers that were fraying at the hem and knee. There goes another fashion ignoramus, he sighed inwardly.

* * *

Ryuk's eyes were possibly wider than L's as L withdrew the pie from the oven. As soon as L cut out a slice, Ryuk seized it and gobbled it up. As he started on a second slice, he paused to watch L, who once again was being an un-boring human, but also a very strange one, because he was not eating any of the delicious pie.

"Don't you want some?" the god of death inquired.

"I actually don't. You can have it all," L offered generously. Ryuk thought he saw a literal tongue-in-cheek and wondered why L was doing that and if it was meant figuratively.

Halfway through his sixth slice (there were eight total), Ryuk's head started to ache. It felt as if his brain were twisting into knots. Although the anatomy of gods of death is not well known, this is still presumably an unusual and unhealthy symptom.

"My head really hurts," Ryuk grumbled. "Ugh. Ow. And now I feel dizzy. What is wrong with me? This is the worst time to have a headache, while I'm eating wonderful pie. And it seems to be awfully hot in here. Is the fire still going in the oven?"

L just gave him a kind of flat smile. As in his lips were like a horizontal line. Ryuk decided that didn't qualify as a smile. Then the meaning of L's previous generosity struck him.

"You did something to that pie," he huffed.

"That's right," L replied. His voice oozed placidity and satisfaction. "I poisoned you."

"Oh dear," was all Ryuk could think of to say at first. "But. Gods of death can't die."

"Correct. So sadly, you can't die of the pain or the fever. You can, however, feel this way for the rest of your existence, unless I give you the antidote."

Antidote, the magic word. Like please, it preceded a request.

L continued: "I will only do that if you can prove yourself as a fashionista by constructing a presentable outfit for me to wear to the ball."

"Done," Ryuk spat as he reeled from the pain. He tumbled off the windowsill and flapped his wings, to no avail as they were rather too large for the confined kitchen space.

"Please desist, you are disturbing my cooking ingredients," L said as he withdrew a packet of white powder from his pocket. He cut open an apple and sprinkled some powder on top. Ryuk almost bit off his hand in his eagerness to consume the antidote. As the god of death swallowed, he visibly relaxed, no longer trembling. L watched him detachedly as he struggled for words.

Finally, Ryuk straightened up and said, "Well, let's do this."

* * *

"It would have turned out better if you hadn't poisoned me."

"I am sufficiently pleased with the result, Ryuk."

"You could have just asked instead of poisoning me."

"If you'd refused, I might look suspicious immediately offering you pie. Although it was suspicious enough that I refused to eat any myself. You would not make a good detective, Ryuk."

"There's a reason I make clothes, instead," the god of death countered with finality. L was nestled atop his shoulders, and they were flying high above the land, the evening fog kissing L's skin. As a god of death, Ryuk could make himself and L invisible.

L could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. Perhaps he just never had the chance to practice with his stepfamily around. He had convinced Ryuk to construct a stunning ensemble of clothes for the night, which the god of death had done using some feathers from the ruff of his own costume and his deathly godly magical powers. Ironically, Ryuk had begun to imitate B in his attentions to L's appearance. He stubbornly combed L's hair using a custom-made brush of animal bones, dabbed flour under his eyes to hide the bags, and held a broom handle under L's shirt until L swore he would stand up straight. Yes, Ryuk was quite the combination of makeup artist, valet, and etiquette teacher. Any fawning queen mother would have swooped to have him serve as her son's butler. Additionally, Ryuk had agreed, in return for more (unpoisoned) apple pie, to give L a ride and continue serving as L's tailor for the next two days of the ball. Heaven forbid L should have to wear the same thing twice.

"Look at it this way," L had suggested upon Ryuk whining that he was getting the short end of the straw. "You get plenty of apple pie, and more entertainment from me, the most interesting human you've ever met."

Ryuk could not argue with that. And so his mood improved by the time they reached the palace. Ryuk flew in through the open doors and glided around the high vaulted ceiling. They alighted in the corner of the hall farthest from the door, and as he descended from Ryuk's shoulders, L flickered into visibility.

Ryuk looked on in amazement that night as L flitted through the crowd, the quintessential eligible bachelor of the aristocracy. No one who saw him could have guessed that he had spent the past nine years sweeping cinders, nor could those who spoke with him fail to marvel at his flawless grace. He did, however, decline to dance, preferring to instead converse with anyone who struck his fancy, lords and ladies alike.

They had arrived about halfway through the ball, which was due to close at midnight. The hour was near, and L stood at the balcony of the hall, awaiting Ryuk's return from his apple-hunting expedition. A stirring in the shadows caught his eye, and he turned to look.

* * *

It is not as wonderful as you would think, being a prince. Light Yagami would tell you so. He was intelligent, beautiful, and commanding, everything expected of a prince, but he often found himself bored of the company of average minds. He recognized that his duty as a prince and future king was to give himself to the people, which was plausibly very easy, as they all loved him mindlessly, but he just couldn't bring himself to cater to their babble. Thus by the end of the ball, he had hidden himself away in an alcove by the balcony. No one was supposed to find him here, so he was very displeased when someone bumbled along.

"Excuse me, sire, but I'm afraid the balcony is reserved for…" Light broke off as he met the stranger's eyes. They looked as if they had been dead a long time, yet had recently relit their fires to produce a chilling gaze.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice coming out less strong than he would have liked.

The stranger hesitated a moment, then introduced himself simply as, "Lawliet."

Light wondered if he should give his own name, but was spared the trouble when Lawliet added, "Your Highness." The silver circlet atop his hair might have given it away.

"I do not recognize your surname," Light replied, and mentally smacked himself. In his childhood etiquette lessons, the proper response was, "Would you do me the favor of reminding me of your family tree?"

"I'm foreign," Lawliet explained. He seemed to be gently chewing the ball of his thumb. Perhaps that was a gesture of respect in his native country. Under Light's gaze, he replaced a supple, white glove over his hand and removed his thumb from his teeth. Then he said, "Perhaps you sometimes feel that way as well."

Light gaped at him before remembering that that was another unprincely thing to do. Somehow, Lawliet knew exactly how he felt. Just then, a voice from the interior of the hall called, "Your Highness! The guests are leaving!"

Swearing silently at his royal constraints, he stormed away without a glance at Lawliet.

* * *

"You know, with your mind and your poison, you could probably get away with anything you wanted, L."

L was again peeling apples in the kitchen, and Ryuk was again sitting on the windowsill. When L did not reply for a full minute, Ryuk wondered if peeling apples was harder than it looked. Finally L said, "Then I suppose I would get away with nothing."

"What? But I said you could get anything… so are you saying you want nothing?"

"Exactly," L said in his quiet, leaf-rustle voice. "Well, there is one thing," he amended. "But it's not something I can get away with: the death of my stepfather. And no, I can't just poison him. No one fights fire with fire. I learned the poison and its antidote from him."

"He… he taught you that?"

"No. I taught myself." L picked up an unpeeled apple and placed it in a basin full of cloudy water. "But he found out. I suppose my current posture is a retainer of that little 'gift' of a spine fracture I got from B that day. And I can't poison him because he won't eat anything I cook anymore. Homicidal tendencies are always coupled with paranoia."

Ryuk frowned deeply, not least because he could not understand why L was washing an apple in water that would only make it dirtier. "You speak as if none of this happened to you. As if you don't feel any of it."

"The real L died years ago, Ryuk." L fixed the god of death with his blank eyes. "All you see now is what's left of his body and soul. Dead people don't want anything. They can't." He retrieved the apple and placed it in his pocket.

And so Ryuk was treated to a very gloomy slice of apple pie.

* * *

The stranger—no,  _Lawliet—_ was standing there again when Light returned to the balcony the second night of the ball. They studied each other. Light didn't feel the need to exchange pleasantries; again, it was just that feeling that Lawliet knew him, though they hadn't spent five minutes in each other's presence.

"Yesterday… what you said about me feeling foreign… what did you mean?" Light articulated haltingly.

"You know very well," Lawliet answered. "You have lived most of your life thus, I presume. You are the king's eyes, ears, and mouth when you ride throughout the land. Your will belongs to your sovereign, and his belongs to the people. The monarchy is inverted, after all, though the people have never noticed it."

Light considered Lawliet as he spoke. The man's cheek rested on his gloved palm as he leaned his elbow against the railing. His lips were pale, his skin all the more so, but his eyes burned, if fire could be black as coal.

"Yet you feel as if you don't belong to yourself. Because you don't, you never have, and it seems that you never will. Certainly you are powerful, but have you ever done something that you alone wanted to do, that was contrary to the will of your liege? Something… not expected of you, something your people wouldn't want you to do? No? Then perhaps you should start tonight. That is, if you wish," Lawliet suggested.

"… Of course I do," Light said, startled at the abrupt cessation of Lawliet's voice.

"Then take this apple." Lawliet suddenly withdrew a bright red apple from within his suit jacket, which had looked too close-fitted to contain the fruit. He tossed it to Light and broke into the first smile the prince had seen gracing his lips.

"When they call you to see the guests out, as it is five minutes 'til midnight, go out taking liberal bites of this apple. It is an untoward act for a prince, yet not overly offensive. Take care to consume the whole fruit, core and all. Think of it as a baby step."

"Thank you, Lawliet."

"Your Highness is very welcome."

Light frowned at the honorific. Though it was natural for everyone to call him such, the words on Lawliet's lips were… jolting. "Why start calling me that now when you've been speaking directly to Light Yagami all this time?"

Lawliet smiled again. "Another step for you,  _Light._ You're doing well."

Strangely, Light's cheeks were almost as red as the apple when he heard someone calling for him again. "Will I see you again tomorrow?"

"You will."

* * *

"Why did you have to give him that apple last night? I wanted it as my snack for the journey back," Ryuk whined.

"You had enough apple cider at the ball," L said. "You were so tipsy you could barely fly."

"I was  _not_ tipsy. I have a huge alcohol tolerance. Although the truth is that I function better when I consume apples in their pure form. Sugar adulterates their power."

"Well then, you can have all the apples that are left today. There are still several bushels on the tree outside. I am not making apple pie again."

He had barely gotten the words out when Ryuk was rushing out the window to the apple tree. The god of death returned half an hour later with a brimming armful of apples and juice dribbling down his chin.

"I'll eat the rest of these while I'm making tonight's outfit. The extra inspiration will help with my last and best gift to you," he explained.

"Whatever you want, Ryuk."

"Speaking of wanting, L…" Ryuk paused mid-bite, giving L a very unattractive view of a half-chewed apple bolus. "What about dear Light?"

"What about him?" L asked innocently.

"He's very pretty, isn't he?"

"I didn't realize gods of death had similar aesthetic tastes to humans," L said, his usual monotone betraying nothing.

"So you  _do_ think he's pretty," Ryuk cackled.

"I never said so. I just said that you seem to agree with the  _general_ consensus that humans like His Highness are attractive. I am neither for nor against this argument."

"Hey, hey, you can deny it all you like, but I was there last night. His face looked like an apple when you called him by his name; I nearly made the mistake of trying to eat it."

"Do not presume to add 'matchmaker' to your list of human occupations, Ryuk."

"Stop arguing, dear L. Come on, let's make you all pretty for your Prince Charming."

* * *

"So where is your special someone tonight?" Ryuk muttered, invisible, in L's ear as he sauntered through the hall. They had been there an hour or so, with no sign of Light.

"I expect he'll be a little indisposed."

"Indisposed… why? How do you know?"

L ignored him in favor of approaching a serving woman bearing a large bowl of punch to the dining table. "Lady, would you know if the crown prince has any business to attend to, necessitating his absence from the hall tonight?"

"Good sir," she replied, "have ye not heard? The prince has taken ill and is in his chamber this night. The word is that he will not be able to rise for several days, bless his soul."

"Ah. I am sorry to hear it, lady. Thank you very much," L murmured. He wove his way through the mazes of ruffled dresses and refined voices to arrive at his former rendezvous with Light, the balcony. He heard Ryuk rustling alongside and spoke.

"You'll be very interested by what I've got planned next."

"Oh, I know you're going to break into his room," the god of death said, becoming visible once more. "But how he got sick rather puzzles me. It's got to be something bad for the royal doctors to not be able to cure him."

"You're less clever than I thought, Ryuk. You've been in his shoes, you know."

Ryuk stared, dumbfounded. "You… you can't have…"

L smiled sweetly. "I can and I did."

"But why?"

"It doesn't matter as long as it's  _interesting_ , or so you would say. Now let's go."

They flew from the balcony and soared around the palace. L peered through every window until he found a dimly lit room containing, among other lavish furnishings, a bed with drawn curtains. He rapped vigorously on the window. "Let's see how well he is."

A moment later, Light slipped out of the bed, pale and slightly cross-eyed. He shuffled over to the window and stared straight through L and Ryuk. L leaned over and rapped again, right in front of Light's face. The prince jumped back in surprise and tried to focus his eyes. He fumbled for the latch, opened the window, and called weakly, "Who's there?"

L took his chance and lightly (haha geddit?) bounded from Ryuk's shoulders, over Light's head, into the room. With utmost care, he locked and latched the door, then took up his position in a dark corner, leaving Light to very confusedly totter back to bed without closing the window. No sooner had he drawn the curtains did L whip them open again.

* * *

Light's clouded eyes took in Lawliet's silhouette before rolling back and closing, dismissing the image as a hallucination, the result of his fever. Thus, he did not notice Lawliet removing a glass vial from inside his jacket and emptying the powdery white contents onto his tongue. Moments later, he shuddered awake as he registered said tongue plundering the inside of his mouth, and he realized that his best defense was to bite it. He did so, and Lawliet slapped him in the face. Light was so surprised by this humiliation that he let go, and Lawliet removed himself from Light's mouth.

"I believe… an explanation… is in order…" Light mumbled groggily.

"I said I would see you today, and I never go back on my word," Lawliet said brightly.

"But why… this… intrusion…"

Impressive, the prince can string together more than three syllables under the influence, Lawliet snorted mentally. "One word, darling: _control._ "

"Con…troll?" Light was still having trouble focusing his thoughts.

"That's right. Let me tell you a story."

Light listened as Lawliet spoke of an idyllic childhood, a falling blade, a crimson-eyed beast, an endless, sleepless night, and above all, a void where a heart used to beat. Much of it was blathering gabble to Light's discombobulated ears, but Lawliet's voice was low and soothing, and Light drifted until the tone changed. The voice was as smooth and suave as before, but an undercurrent of laughter, mad, twisted laughter, pulsed beneath.

"It's been so long since I've been able to change anything in my life. But who would have expected you to be the first one in my line of sight when I regained control? When you return to full consciousness, you will be able to appreciate the irony. The poison is still fading from your blood, but no lasting damage will remain. After you wake, you will understand, and you will thank me for what I have done to you. Perhaps you shall do the same, and perhaps you shall surpass me, Light."

Light blearily forced his eyes open. "Lawliet…" he coughed. "What's your first name?"

"As chance would have it, it is in fact the first letter of your own name." Lawliet paused a moment, then removed his glove and placed his right hand against Light's warm cheek. He rubbed thick calluses against the prince's delicate skin and leaned down to take Light's lips again, gently. The bell chose this moment to begin tolling midnight, and L scowled at the sound. "Remember L Lawliet," he breathed against Light's lips, and then he leaped out the window, leaving a very stunned prince with his glove.

* * *

"Light? Light, they're waiting to speak with you, the Lord and Lady of—Light?"

Sachiko, Light's mother, bustled through the antechamber and into his room, only to find the prince sitting dejectedly on his bed. He gave her half a glance before returning his eyes to the floor.

"Light, what's wrong? Are you still ill? I can send word to them and ask them to come another day if—Light, why are you holding a glove?"

Light reflexively clutched the glove to himself, but Sachiko seized it with the air of a hawk snatching a juicy fish.

"This isn't yours, is it? It doesn't have the royal crest embroidered on… then who…?"

"Mother, give it back, it's none of your business!" Light snapped, coming to life.

"Oh Light! I understand now! Some darling lady snuck into your room last night and left you this glove! Dearest Light, don't worry, we'll find her for you, and when we do, you'll be the happiest man alive!" Sachiko exclaimed, rushing from the chamber.

Light stared agape after her. "L," he muttered.

* * *

"Misa, Takada! I have news for you!" B sang as he almost tap-danced through the house. "The prince is seeking a wife, and he will take whoever's hand best fits this glove!" He brandished a beautifully made white glove in the air.

Misa and Takada's jaws dropped in a very unladylike manner; B snapped them both shut with a click. "Now dears, I think we should agree to let Misa try first, since she is older."

"Hooray!" Misa squealed as Takada pouted.

"Into the kitchen then, Misa, for your  _fitting_ ," B said with a leer that Misa didn't notice.

"Hm, your hand appears to be too wide, Misa," B said thoughtfully after several minutes of heroic tugging. "I suppose we shall have to cut a finger off."

"C-cut a finger… off?" Misa gasped.

"That's what I said, love. Now sit tight." Misa was frozen to the spot. B retrieved a wickedly sharp, rusted knife, an equally awful-looking needle, and a bowl from a drawer. He grabbed Misa's pinky finger and cut it off, along with part of the side of her hand. Then he sewed it up, licked off the excess blood, and fitted the glove over her hand.

"There now," he crooned at the sobbing Misa. "Go on out, they're waiting for you."

The royal officers examined Misa's gloved hand but quickly noted her missing finger, so they sent her back. B didn't seem remotely disappointed; instead he bundled Takada off to the kitchen, where she met with the same fate as Misa because her fingers were too long. B cut the tips off at the first knuckle, sewed them up, and sent her out.

Around this time, Light rode up on his glorious chestnut, having finally tracked down the royal party ferrying his glove about. Of course he knew Takada was not the owner, but he saw her bloodshot eyes and asked, "Why are you crying, lady?"

She held up her gloved hand. The fingertips were stained red. Light ripped the glove from her hand and regarded her mutilated fingers, where blood still oozed.

"H-he made me do it! My f-father! He cut my sister's off too!" Takada choked out.

"Who on earth…" Light was lost for words.

"It's B, sir," one of the officers said. "I grew up in this village, and a few years ago this man, B, had a couple of nasty incidents spring up around him. First a man was killed at the mill B owned. Then B married his wife, but not long after, she had an accident too. Rumor has it that he stabbed her, but there's no proof. And just now, the sister of this girl came out wearing the glove, but one of her fingers was cut off."

"What was the name of the man B killed?" Light asked, hardly daring to hope…

"Hm, I believe… it wasn't a common name, it was… oh yes, it was Lawliet."

"Lawliet… of course. Thank you, Matsuda. Please listen carefully to my instructions. First, have your men arrest and imprison B for his misdeeds. Then bring his daughters to the palace and entrust them to the care of the queen. Lastly, please inform the queen that I shall no longer require her help in locating a bride."

"B-but…" Matsuda stammered.

"Thank you, Matsuda." With that, Light rode off with the bloody glove.

* * *

He was riding by the cemetery when he noticed it. A white glove, the partner of the bloodied one in his hand, adorned the hand of the angel Gabriel atop a headstone. And Gabriel, messenger of God, was pointing at another angel, who held the open Book of Life in its hands. Light dismounted and climbed the apple tree that shaded the angel and its burden. He nimbly sailed from the fork of the tree's branches to the plateau formed by the stone book. He smirked as he gazed down at the supine form slowly opening its eyes.

"So now you know," L said, covering his face with his hands as Light stepped over him to sit by his head.

"Know what?" Light asked tauntingly.

"Know that L Lawliet is just a common baker's son whose parents were murdered by a lunatic, who hasn't slept, eaten well, or worn decent clothes for nine years, who enjoys poisoning as a recreational sport and ego booster, and who certainly has no business toying with the king's heir," L said as fast and tonelessly as he could.

Light pulled L's hands away from his eyes and placed one on his cheek. "I suppose I owe you one for the poisoning," he said. "That's a serious felony, but the reason you won't be seeing your stepfather in prison is that you taught me my lesson well. I'm crown prince of the realm, but I don't have to be if I don't want to. I'd rather spend my time here with you under this apple tree, though I'm less than interested in consuming its fruit."

L laughed the first pure, non-depraved laugh to pass his lips in nine years. "If that's your idea of punishment, then I don't really mind—"

"Shut up," Light growled as his lips closed over L's.

Neither of them noticed the apples on the tree rapidly dematerializing.


End file.
